Chasing the Storm (Chasing the Storm, #1) - PUBLISHED

Prologue

There were three knocks on the door, each within half a second of the previous. It wasn’t the special signal that meant my mother was back. I was trained not to answer the door for anyone – not even my parents. I wasn’t even allowed to move toward it. My father enforced that rule ten times more than my mother did, and I didn’t understand why at the time. I was only five, but now I’m older and wise enough to know and understand his reason. He didn’t want me to be seen by anyone who could help.

The doorbell rang once. Then twice. Then three times, and my father was still nowhere to be found. I decided that it had to be my mother, and that no sales person would be that persistent, especially if they noticed a car missing from the driveway. And I thought that if she had a lot of bags, she might need help opening the door, and that I could take a few of the bags for her.

Mom worked so hard all day long while my father sat around watching television until she returned. What he would watch were mostly videos I wasn’t allowed to so much as take a glance at after Mom found them. I didn’t want to be in the same room when he turned the television on, so it wasn’t as if telling me that was necessary.

My father had always encouraged me to sit with him, saying we needed more “father-son bonding time.” I always refused, and then he tried to force me one day. That’s when she walked in the door, and that was the end of that. This was a mere couple of days after her discovery that I was on the carpeted living room floor while playing with my new Hot Wheels cars. But the second set of knocks caused me to drop the cars and rush to the door. I opened it without looking through the glass panes, and the sight of the man – a police officer – standing before me filled me not with fear, but confusion and curiosity.

Then I had a thought. Is he here to take Daddy away?

“You can’t have my Daddy!” I said firmly, glaring up at the man. Hatred for my father has replaced the blindness of love I felt for him back then. I don’t understand why I couldn’t see clearly back then, even though I was only five. That man, my father, had constantly hurt my mother and me. Why had I loved him after the first time?

I later learned that he had killed the sister of mine that was never born, that had never gotten a chance to see the world, nor the woman who had loved her so much before she was ever even seen. My sister. My only sibling by blood… gone, and at the same time as my mother.

When my father came to the door, he scolded me first. He stopped when he noticed the officer standing just outside. The officer wore a deep frown, a frown that has been etched into my mind and that I see often, not only when I close my eyes, but also while they’re open. It was a frown that meant so much. It meant my life was over. It meant her life was over… their lives were over, all in one instant… gone. Though I was at home when it happened, the three of us died in that car accident that day. Not just my mother, sister, and four members of the family of five who were in the other car. The only survivor was a two month old girl.

I was told soon after that my father was the one responsible for their deaths. He’d told me himself. He was so proud of himself, and celebrated by returning to the one thing he cared about, the thing my mother had taken away from him – his precious videos. He killed them over videos by sneaking some powder concoction into her drink!

He hadn’t celebrated yet. No, he was on his knees before the officer, hands covering his face as he sobbed into them. Tears ran down his arms. He wailed and screamed as if he’d just been run through, and the officer bought it. I must admit that I did, too, but only for a short time. When the man left, my father uncovered his face and looked up from his hands, grinning at me as if he’d won a billion dollars in the lottery. I was appalled. My little mind couldn’t wrap itself around the idea that my father isn’t as unique as I’d like to think.

He was soon arrested for more murders than that of my mother, for the child abuse that had been taking place for years prior to that, and for countless other illegal deeds. That was the last time I saw him. I imagine most people would say that they would be concerned for me if we ever met again, but I know the truth. He’s the one they should be worried about.